


Deductive Reasoning Scenarios

by eruthros



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Coffee, F/F, Undressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 01:12:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eruthros/pseuds/eruthros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sherlock asked me to set up some deductive reasoning scenarios this week. I set up some problems - how has the room changed and what can be deduced from those changes, how does décor reflect personality, that sort of thing."</p><p>"He did. Of course he did." Joan presses her fingers to her forehead. "Have you been here long?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deductive Reasoning Scenarios

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thingswithwings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswithwings/gifts).



It's Wednesday, and they don't have a case, and Sherlock has an appointment with a pawnbroker in Queens - "don't expect me before dinner, Watson, and don't try to follow me, Samuel is easily disturbed" - so it's almost noon when Joan finally drags herself out of bed in search of coffee.

She's turning the corner at the bottom of the stairs, a hair tie in her mouth, when movement in the front room catches her eye: Ms. Hudson, sitting on the chair by the window and reading; she looks impeccably put-together, her hair falling perfectly against her cheek. Joan tugs her sweater down further over her leggings, suddenly feeling awkward and underdressed.

"Ms. Hudson!" Joan says, around the hair tie in her mouth, and then hastily uses it to put up her hair instead. "It isn't Thursday, is it?"

Ms. Hudson closes her book and stands up, smiling, her finger between the pages; Joan takes half a second and checks the title, automatically - Greek; and from the layout it's probably a play - and gives herself a point for observation. 

"Sherlock asked me to set up some deductive reasoning scenarios this week. I set up some problems - how has the room changed and what can be deduced from those changes, how does décor reflect personality, that sort of thing."

"He did. Of course he did." She presses her fingers to her forehead. "Have you been here long?"

"An hour or two, but I didn't want to wake you." Ms. Hudson hesitates, before clasping her hands together, fidgeting. "I suspected, when you weren't ready for me, that Sherlock had engaged in some petty mischief. I'm sorry to bother you - I - you know Sherlock."

"Yeah," Joan says. "I mean, yes. I'm sorry I wasn't here to meet you."

"Please, don't worry about it," Ms. Hudson says, and she smiles at Joan and sets the book aside. "Do you want me to come again another day?"

"No, I don't want to waste any more of your time," Joan says, and then gestures towards the kitchen, which is of course a mess. "Only - I haven't had any coffee yet and -"

"Look," Ms. Hudson says, "there's a great new patisserie two blocks from here where they make a divine café au lait - why don't we throw Sherlock's plans out the window and I'll treat you to breakfast?"

"You don't have to do that," Joan says helplessly. "I can just throw something together."

"I'd like to," Ms. Hudson says. "It would be nice to just - have some pleasant company for lunch. And to give Sherlock the finger, of course. I'll buy your pastry with the money he paid me for the lesson."

Joan grins at Ms. Hudson. "Well, when you put it that way - give me five minutes to make myself presentable and I will be delighted to accompany you."

When she comes back down the stairs, Ms. Hudson is holding her coat. As Joan shrugs it on, she says, "you swapped the two identical candles on the mantelpiece; I don't know what it means about personality, but I would check them for prints or blood." 

Ms. Hudson smiles down at her. "Well, then. I'll tell Sherlock the lesson is complete."

***

Ms. Hudson waits for Joan to order, and then orders for herself; they sit at an outside table and sip their drinks quietly, looking out at the street for a while. Joan's cappuccino is, as promised, divine, and so is the butter pecan croissant; the weather and the view are lovely; and Ms. Hudson just sits companionably quiet beside her, waiting for Joan to finish waking up.

"Listen," Joan says, finally, after the last sip of her cappuccino. "I don't want to ask anything awkward, but I noticed you gave the barista your last name, and I realized I don't know your name either - "

"Iphigenia," Ms. Hudson says, and then laughs at Joan's expression.

"That's - Greek, right?"

"I chose it when I was in college - it means 'born in strength,' and I needed that reminder then. I still do, I suppose. I didn't think about how difficult it would be at coffee shops at the time, of course. Hudson is much easier."

"It's lovely," Joan says. "If they don't appreciate it at Starbucks, that's their loss. Do you mind if I call you Iphigenia?"

"Not at all," Ms. Hudson says, and she smiles as she takes another drink. "I considered Lois - from the Greek, too, but really I was thinking about Lois Lane at the time."

"The journalist? I don't know much about her," Joan confesses. "I was more into Nancy Drew as a kid."

"I desperately wanted to be Lois Lane when I was young. Partly for the wardrobe, really; her pantsuits were amazing. In a way it would have been prophetic - Lois is an amazing journalist, but writers tend to see her only as support staff. Not worth a comic by herself." Iphigenia makes a face. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to be bitter. It's too pleasant a day for that."

"It's okay," Joan says. "Don't worry about it."

Ms. Hudson toys with the napkin in her lap, looking at the street. "Joan, I know we aren't really - close friends, yet, but I value the conversations we have. And I wondered if I could ask you a personal question." 

Joan tears off a bit of croissant and raises an eyebrow in Iphigenia's direction. "Sure, I guess."

"I suppose what I want to know is how it felt when you decided to become a consulting detective. I feel - still at loose ends, I suppose."

"Ah," Joan says, and turns her cup around on the saucer meditatively; Iphigenia waits patiently for Joan to marshal her words. She's never really thought about it, but she does suppose that they have that in common: trying to change their direction, rethinking themselves. "I knew that I liked the investigative process, and that I enjoyed the work in the moment. But I wasn't sure about it - I'm still not sure if I've made the best decision. I'm happy with what I'm doing right now, and I suppose that's enough."

"I know that you have been doing excellent work," Ms. Hudson says, and reaches out to put her hand beside Joan's; Joan looks at it for a moment before recognizing it as an offer, and she sets down her cup and takes Ms. Hudson's hand. 

"And I like doing it. But I never felt that - that bone-deep certainty that advisors talked about in college. It would have been easier if I had."

Ms. Hudson nods. "I've had that feeling. There's something compelling about helping someone reach their potential - it's easy to feel useful and valued when I'm facilitating someone's genius. But then, of course, at the end of two years they have an award-winning play and I have - an ex who wrote an excellent play. I often don't even appear in the acknowledgements. At the time it always feels - amazing, powerful, like I'm lifting someone up. Like I am in the right place. It's only afterward that I feel uncertain."

Joan threads her fingers through Iphigenia's. "There were rewards to surgery, too, and to my work as a sober companion. It was hard to let go of those things, even though I knew that there was something else I wanted. And it didn't help that my friends tried to talk me out of it."

"Oh my, did they really?" Ms. Hudson says, clearly appalled. 

"Yeah!" Joan chuckles a little and shakes her head. "They staged an intervention, would you believe it?"

"Good heavens," Iphigenia shakes her head. "Well, I can promise you that I will always take your opinions seriously, if you ever need someone to listen. I will never stage a personal intervention about your career choices."

Joan laughs again. "You know, when you put it that way it sounds just ridiculous."

"Just when I put it that way?" Ms. Hudson shakes her head. "It must have been a very convincing intervention."

"I walked out, actually. But at the time I still thought that they were trying to be good friends to me." She looks out at the street again, changes the subject deliberately. "I felt comfortable talking to you, almost the moment we met. Have you considered going into therapy? Because I think you'd do incredible work."

"I've thought about it," Iphigenia says, and sits back in her chair, releasing Joan's hand. "But I'm not sure it would be good for me - I fear that I would get involved in a hundred people's problems, instead of wrapped up in only one. And then, of course, who wants to go back to school."

"Oh, god," Joan says, tilting her head back "At least I'm enjoying my studies this time around. And I'll never have to do a multiple-choice test again."

Iphigenia laughs. "The readings are more interesting?"

"And I don't think any of my professors would have invited my contributions on blood splatter on their floors."

***

They walk back to the brownstone side by side; Joan's hand brushes against Iphigenia's, sometimes, and she thinks about holding it again; about Iphigenia's tentative gestures.

"Thank you for breakfast," Joan says, standing on the front steps.

"Thank you for the lovely company," Ms. Hudson says, standing on the sidewalk below Joan. "I had a good time - maybe we can do it again when I come over tomorrow? Or next week?"

Joan takes a deep breath and Iphigenia's hand. "Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee, actually?"

"We just had - oh!" Iphigenia breaks off and looks away; Joan is charmed by the color flushing on her cheeks. She turns back to Joan and bites her lip. "I'd be delighted."

Iphigenia follows her up to the front door; they hold hands until Joan goes to take off her jacket, and gets her scarf tangled in the sleeve, suddenly clumsy. 

"Allow me," Iphigenia says, sliding the jacket off Joan's shoulders; her hands linger on Joan's shoulders, as they hadn't when they were leaving, and Joan shivers a little.

"Can I kiss you?" Joan asks, turning so that she's inside Iphigenia's arms.

"I'd like that very much," Iphigenia says, and leans down to kiss Joan; she's tentative, at first, and Joan smiles against Iphigenia's lips before leaning back. 

"Did you actually want a cup of coffee? Because I can go make one if you want."

"No," Iphigenia says, and smiles, slowly. "Not at all."

"Good, because I don't think we have any cream," Joan says. "Do you want to come upstairs?" 

"Yes," Iphigenia says, and takes Joan's hand again. "I would."

Joan pauses in her own doorway, suddenly eyeing the bed dubiously; the tangle of blankets and pillows in the middle of the bed is really not the perfect way to great a houseguest. Especially not someone who wears silk blouses when she dusts.

"Uh," Joan says. "Hang on for a minute, let me just - "

She shoves the pillows up towards the wall, shakes the blankets and flips them back onto the bed; when the blankets settle she can see Iphigenia over the bed, still standing in the doorway, still smiling. Iphigenia walks in and sits on the edge of the bed in front of Joan; she reaches out to touch the edge of Joan's scarf and then slowly, deliberately, slides it off.

Joan smiles at her, relieved, and then reaches back to the clasp of Iphigenia's necklace; it refuses to unclasp for a moment. "It's fussy," Iphigenia murmurs, as Joan feels it come apart in her hands; she grins, triumphant.

"Surgeon's hands," she says, and drops it into Iphigenia's waiting hands. 

"Oh my." Iphigenia blinks, and takes Joan's hand in her own. She glances up as she leans forward, clearly asking permission, and Joan nods: yes, anything. She watches as Iphigenia kisses the back of her hand, the tips of her fingers, and finds herself gasping as Iphigenia leans back.

Joan leans forward with her, automatically, and then skims her hands up Iphigenia's arms, onto her shoulders, reaching for the top button on Iphigenia's blouse. "Yes, please," Iphigenia says, before Joan can ask the question, and she holds still for Joan to undress her. 

Iphigenia takes Joan's sweater off, in turn; gets up off the bed to unzip Joan's skirt. She takes the edge of Joan's tights in one hand, rolling them slowly down until she's crouching at Joan's feet; Joan lifts her foot, amused. "I'm ticklish," is all she says.

"I'll be careful," Iphigenia says, and cups each foot in her hand as she slides the tights off, her touch firm and assured on Joan's heel. Joan shivers, a little; it's been a while since she's felt so cherished, and she wants to return the favor. She reaches down for Iphigenia's skirt, for her stockings, and brushes her hands along Iphigenia's legs as she removes them. 

She stands back up, and steps up close to Iphigenia, until their bodies are pressed together, their thighs touching. "Do you want to get naked?" she asks, and then laughs at herself. "Wow, that sounded silly."

Iphigenia takes Joan's hands, moves them behind her own back to the clasp of her bra; it falls away when Joan unclasps it, and she sets it on the pile of clothes beside her.

"I think you'd better do the sports bra yourself," Iphigenia says, running her fingers along Joan's ribcage. "I get tangled up in them."

Joan pulls off her own bra, shoves down her panties and steps out of them, steps forward and sits down on the bed. Iphigenia turns to watch her, and Joan slips a finger inside the waistband of Iphigenia's panties, along her soft belly. "Can I take these off?"

"Yes," Iphigenia says, and puts her hands on Joan's shoulders, feathers them along her neck, puts her weight on Joan as she lifts her feet. 

Joan leans forward, licks a line up Iphigenia's side, up to her clavicle, licks and sucks along it to her jugular notch. Iphigenia gasps, and her hands spasm on Joan's shoulders. 

She slumps forward, her cock pressed to Joan's stomach and her forehead pressed to the top of Joan's head; Joan grins into Iphigenia's sternum. "Sensitive? Will I leave a mark?"

"I don't care," Iphigenia says. "Go on."

Joan puts her arms around Iphigenia, holds her firm as she bites at Iphigenia's trapezius, sucks on her sternocleidomastoideus, licks along her supraclavicular fossa. "You have lovely clavicles," she says, and feels Iphigenia laughing through her sternum.

"Thanks," Iphigenia says, and shoves Joan down onto the bed, rolling onto the bed beside her. She takes Joan's hand again, kisses it, mouths the palm, and draws back a little. "What do you like?" she asks.

"Oral," Joan says. "Either way. Fingers. Fucking. I like it when people play with my breasts."

Iphigenia promptly cups her hands over Joan's breasts, fingers the nipples, leans forward to take one in her teeth.

Joan gasps, pushes up into Iphigenia's mouth, pulls back, pushes up again; it's almost too much, in a good way, and she shudders and curls her hand around Iphigenia's head, running her thumb over her sternocleidomastoid. 

"What do you like?" she asks, when Iphigenia settles down onto Joan's arm.

"I'm not particular," Iphigenia says, and leans forward to kiss Joan. "Mouths, mostly. I like mouths a lot."

"I noticed," Joan laughs, and leans over, licks and bites at the underside of Iphigenia's jaw. She feels Iphigenia's hands on her again, one hand clutching her shoulder, the other sliding along her thigh, up onto her femoral triangle, before it stops. 

She lets go of the flesh between her teeth. "Go ahead," she says, and spreads her legs before biting Iphigenia's clavicle again. She feels Iphigenia stroke along her labia once, twice, before dipping inside. 

"I'm not going to be very good at fingering you," Iphigenia says, "if you keep doing that."

"That's very flattering," Joan laughs against Iphigenia's neck, and slides over Iphigenia to give her a better angle.

Iphigenia pulls Joan up to her mouth, leans up and kisses her, parts her lips below Joan's before falling back again. Joan takes the hint and presses down, kisses Iphigenia firmly, pushes her hip into Iphigenia's cock. "Do you want do come like this?" she asks. "Or do you want me to suck you?"

Iphigenia kisses her again. "Suck me. Please."

Joan turns around, kneels over Iphigenia's chest, leans down and licks the tip of Iphigenia's cock. She parts her legs and feels Iphigenia touching her again, running her hands up Joan's thighs, parting her labia and pressing into her cunt. "Yes," she says. And then, considering, "You can lick me if you want." And then she tightens her lips around Iphigenia's cock and sucks; she holds Iphigenia's thighs in her hands, pins her in place.

Iphigenia lets go for a second, and Joan makes a face, disappointed a little; she knows some people can't do two things at once, but she likes it best that way. Then she feels Iphigenia moving pillows, and realizes she's propping herself up, giving herself a better angle. Iphigenia licks indiscriminately, the broad flat of her tongue against Joan's clit, her labia, teasing at the edge of her cunt before pressing in. Joan parts her legs further, slumps down against Iphigenia's chest. Iphigenia has one arm twisted around, her fingers sliding into Joan's cunt, stroking in and out, and Joan has a momentary appreciation of Iphigenia's hands before she redoubles her efforts. After a while it's hard to focus; Iphigenia is very good with her tongue, and Joan's always been fast off the mark. She holds off for a bit, hoping for a higher crest, and when she comes it's almost a surprise, her legs spasming and her cunt clenching on Iphigenia's fingers. Iphigenia pulls back a little, her breaths puffing on Joan's clit. 

"Do you want to go again?" Iphigenia asks.

Joan pulls back too, sighs happily. "No," she says. "Thanks." And she squirms forward, Iphigenia's fingers sliding out of her, and licks around Iphigenia's cock, tightens her fingers along its base. She feels Iphigenia fall back against the pillows, her hands clutching at Joan's legs, her breath coming faster. She settles in to suck again, enjoying the way she can feel Iphigenia's reactions through her body; Iphigenia parting her legs, pressing upward, clutching harder, and she's not surprised when Iphigenia shudders a little and comes. 

"That was lovely," Iphigenia says, running her hands up Joan's legs.

Joan smiles into Iphigenia's thigh. "Thanks. You, too." She squirms around and off of Iphigenia, suddenly aware of her weight on Iphigenia's chest and her inability to look Iphigenia in the eye. Iphigenia takes Joan's hand, runs her fingers along Joan's knuckles. 

"Do you have plans for the rest of the day?" Iphigenia asks, kissing Joan's forehead and then her lips.

"I fall asleep after orgasms," Joan admits, snuggling down onto Iphigenia's shoulder. "But I'd like it if you stayed."

"I have a book," Iphigenia says, snagging her purse by one strap. She sits back against the wall at the head of the bed, holds the book in one hand, and curls her other arm around Joan. 

Joan reaches up and touches the underside of Iphigenia's jaw. "You're going to have a mark," she says.

"You can leave another one later," Iphigenia says, calmly, though her arm tightens around Joan."

"Mmm," Joan says. "Yes. Later."


End file.
